


Five Things Danny Loves About Steve (and then one more)

by lavvyan



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Domestic Bliss, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hand & Finger Kink, Kid Fic, M/M, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 07:33:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14015355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavvyan/pseuds/lavvyan
Summary: Danny loves more than five things about Steve. But these are the things that have him absolutely smitten.





	Five Things Danny Loves About Steve (and then one more)

**Author's Note:**

> You guys have been very kind. Please allow me to express my appreciation with some of the purest fluff I can manage. 
> 
> Contains spoiles for season 8. Not beta-read, concrit welcome.

**1\. His laugh**

Danny has never told Steve about this and he never will, but after that flaming wreck of a first case, he was determined to go back to HPD. He was going to _sue_ his way back in there if he had to. He disliked Steve's methods, he disliked Steve's incessant questions about his private life, and he deeply, honestly, disliked Steve. 

He was so tired back then. Tired of HPD and all their crap. Tired of other people dictating the direction of his life. Tired of having to beg for every scrap of his daughter's time. He figured that HPD, at least, would keep on sidelining him well away from any guns going off.

So when, after that long, _long_ day, McGarrett started interrogating him again, Danny was more than ready for the man to be gone.

"If you don't like the island," McGarrett said, "then what do you do in your free time?"

Danny tightened his hands on the steering wheel. 

"None of your business."

"Come on, I just wanna know," McGarrett wheedled. "What, is it a secret? Because I've got clearance."

"You've got-" Danny stopped and let out a slow breath, because high blood pressure ran in his family and he did not need an aneurysm to complete this day's scorecard of disasters. "Okay, you know what, never mind. You wanna know what I do in my free time?" He didn't wait for McGarrett's reply before he went on, "Movies, okay. I like watching movies."

He lifted his right hand off the wheel, palm up in a clear there-you-go-now-shut-up gesture. 

McGarrett didn't take the implied message. 

"What, that's it? You like watching movies? That's all you do?"

He sounded incredulous, and that was it. Danny was not going to have his choices ridiculed by a man who thought driving a _car_ onto a _freighter_ was a reasonable cause of action. 

"Stop it, all right?" he snapped. "Just shut up, okay, stop interrogating me! This is not an interview! I am not withholding classified information that you need to torture out of me! Okay? What I choose, and do not choose, to do in my free time is, _sincerely,_ none of your damn business! All right? Huh?!"

"All right! Okay!" McGarrett raised his hands in surrender, but Danny already knew better than to expect him to leave well enough alone. Sure enough, McGarrett kept quiet for all of a minute before he said, "So how about you ask me a question?"

As if.

Danny scoffed. "Please. I know what you Navy boys get up to in your free time."

McGarrett sat up straighter, turning his upper body towards Danny. 

"You do, huh?" he challenged, obviously expecting some dig about gay porn or maybe the Village People. "And what's that?"

"Arts and crafts," Danny said, rolling his eyes. If this jackass thought he had Danny all figured out, he had another think coming. Homophobic cop, yeah right. "You can probably knit a garrote faster than I can pull my gun."

For one long moment, McGarrett didn't say anything, and a quick glance told Danny that he was blinking at the windshield. Then he laughed. 

It was a brief, quickly-swallowed thing. It lasted maybe two seconds, if that, and afterward McGarrett looked as startled by it as Danny felt. 

Laughing, McGarrett seemed like a whole different person. Not that closed-off asshole who, if he _had_ to turn up the corners of his mouth, at best managed a superior smirk that made Danny want to slug him all over again. He looked lighter, younger, like 'humor' wasn't just a synonym for 'frame of mind.'

Laughing, McGarrett looked like someone who might be fun to be around. 

And like so many other addicts who don't have a clue what they're getting into, Danny was hooked from the very first hit. 

_Okay,_ he told himself, _one more case. Maybe two._

And now, eight years later, Danny is in so deep he knows he'll never manage to pull away. Because it turned out that Steve _likes_ to laugh. He likes to smile, to snort, to crack up at the stupidest things. And Danny likes to make him. He likes to make Steve grin helplessly into his coffee mug. He likes to make Steve chuckle at random observations. He likes to make Steve cackle, even at his own expense. He even managed to make Steve do a spit-take once, much to Steve's consternation. 

He tries not to think about what he's doing. But the way his heart speeds up every time Steve laughs, open and happy, is very hard to ignore.

~~~

**2\. His hands**

If someone had asked Danny during his first few weeks with Five-0, he'd have told them that Steve McGarrett didn't use his hands for anything but excessive violence and possibly feeding himself. If prompted to elaborate, he might have said that, while Danny's own job was to protect and serve – emphasis on 'protect' – Steve's interpretation of his job description seemed to be 'to punch and shoot.' 

It made Danny uncomfortable. More than that, it made him angry. You didn't treat the law like that. Treating the law like that didn't make them any better than the guys they were chasing. 

Then Steve shook Gracie's hand, her little fingers all but disappearing in his giant paw, and followed it up a minute later with the gentlest of fist bumps. In that moment, Danny realized that his view of Steve could possibly do with a little adjusting. 

Just because he doesn't like admitting when he's wrong, doesn't mean he won't acknowledge it. To himself. Silently. 

And by now, Steve's hands have saved his life so many times, in so many ways, he couldn't begin to untangle them all. That's without even getting into the everyday stuff. Steve adjusts his grip on the steering wheel, Danny gets a weird, fluttery feeling in his stomach. Steve fiddles with his pen, Danny has to look away. Steve ruffles Charlie's hair, Danny has to stop himself from reaching out. 

"Hey, Danny?"

That time when Steve offered to hold his hand to keep away the claustrophobia? Danny has never again been so relieved that he can bitch on autopilot, because otherwise he might have said yes. Yes, please. 

That time when they were trapped underneath tons of rubble and Steve actually _took_ his hand? Danny was so, so glad that Steve was wearing gloves, because otherwise he might have done something stupid like brush his thumb over Steve's knuckles and then where would they be?

The only time Danny slipped, the one time he let himself have what he wanted, was after that disastrous couple's retreat. The entire thing had been filled with hand-holding, but he'd been able to play that off as reluctant, unwilling. But afterwards, sitting at a table watching Steve dig into his hamburger with his usual lack of manners, Danny all but ordered Steve to hold his hand right there for all to see in a perverse dare to himself. He figured the pain in his ankle would be enough to distract himself from any inappropriate reactions, and it was. But the way Steve jumped straight into it, catching Danny's fingers with one hand while stroking the other up and down Danny's arm... That was unnaturally, dangerously good. 

Danny won't be going down that road again any time soon.

"Danny?"

Which isn't to say their hands don't touch. Of course they do; they touch all the freaking time. But handshakes and fist bumps and nudges and back slaps and casual touches to someone's shoulder and fingertips at the small of someone's back and a thumb brushing someone's ear and... Well, all of those things are miles and miles away from hand-holding. As is pulling someone up. Or, or sliding your palms together because you're dancing and that's just what you do when you're... when you're dancing. 

Danny groans and drops his head so he can bang his forehead on his desk. 

And jumps when a big, warm hand lands on the back of his neck.

"Holy... fucking... _what_?!"

His knee jerks painfully against the underside of his desk. His chair starts to slide out from under him, and the only reason he doesn't fall out of it in a pathetic slapstick moment is that someone's foot keeps it from spinning away. He looks up, his heart racing, and of course it's Steve, eyeing him with a mixture of concern and amusement. 

"You okay there, buddy? I've been calling you."

"Yeah, just, uh." His voice comes out breathless. Danny pinches the bridge of his nose, hopes he isn't blushing. "Thinking about some stuff."

"Uh huh." Steve gives him a shrewd look, but then apparently decides to let the matter drop. Which is just as well, because Danny doesn't want to talk about it. Ever. "You wanna go get lunch? Tani's paying."

"You're the leader of the Governor's task force and you're letting the rookie pay for your food?" Danny says, glad to have something he can argue about.

"Danny, everyone on this team except you, me and Lou is a rookie."

"Fair enough." Danny nods – he won't say no to free food – and Steve gives him a grin. 

"Well, come on," he says, grabbing Danny's elbow and pulling him to his feet, "I'm starving."

"You're always starving. Your mouth is like a trash chute," Danny says, and lets himself be pulled.

Steve protests, loudly and still grinning, as they make their way towards the door. His hand stays on Danny's elbow, bleeding heat through the cotton of Danny's shirt. 

_I'm so fucking gone,_ Danny thinks. But he doesn't pull away.

~~~

**3\. His big, stupid heart**

Over the past few months, Danny's been spending most of his weekends like this: Steve and Charlie are romping through the surf, Steve chasing Charlie, making "Raaaah!" noises as Charlie splashes away, hollering at the top of his lungs. One long arm wraps around Charlie's waist and the boy shrieks with laughter as he's hauled up, "Nooo, Uncle Steve!" 

"There's no Uncle Steve here," Steve declares dramatically, "only the sea monster... and the sea monster is hungry!"

He starts to stomp off into the ocean, Charlie struggling and laughing the entire time, until Steve deems they're deep enough to throw himself forward and dump them both into the ocean. Steve comes up grinning, keeping his hold on Charlie, who immediately starts splashing him.

Danny shakes his head as he watches them. He's sitting on one of the chairs, nice and dry, a cool beer beside him in the sand. Next to him, Grace has her phone out and is taking one picture after another, occasionally turning toward Danny to show him a particularly good one. 

"They're so cute," she coos as Steve lifts Charlie up to place him on his shoulders, probably to save himself from drowning. 

"They're animals, both of them," Danny says fondly.

"Uh huh," Grace says, tilting her phone to take another picture. "We're the only humans on this beach."

"What are you talking about? Monkeys are animals. _I'm_ the only human on this beach."

She snorts. "Your life is so hard."

"Don't I know it."

They keep watching the two goofs for a while. Danny marvels at their energy, though he's willing to bet Steve will start flagging within the next five minutes. No one outlasts Charlie when it comes to powering on. 

"Do you remember when I was little and scared of that thunderstorm?" Grace asks suddenly. 

Danny tries to think back to when his little girl was, well, a little girl. Grace is grinning, so the memory can't be a bad one. He frowns, and then he remembers one particular afternoon with Grace and Steve, and he groans because yes. Yes, he does remember. He remembers all too well. 

"Oh please," he begs, "don't remind me."

"He said," Grace giggles so hard she has to start again. "He said that lightning was just electricity, like in the power lines. And I..."

She breaks off, still giggling, too breathless to continue. 

"You spent the next two months _terrified_ of outlets," Danny finishes, "because you thought a lightning strike was gonna come out and kill you."

And hadn't that been a fun couple of months. He's still a little amazed at how he kept himself from wringing Steve's stupid neck.

"I thought _you_ were going to kill _him_!" Grace says, laughing and proving once again that she knows exactly what is going on in her old man's head. "You were so mad at him and he didn't even get why."

"Yeah, he was..." Danny shakes his head again, amazed at how _awful_ Steve had been with kids, how confused when they didn't react as expected. Then he remembers something else, and now it's his turn to grin. "Hey, did I ever tell you about the kid in the elevator?"

"Oh god, what did he do?" Grace takes another picture as Charlie slaps his hands over Steve's eyes and Steve pretends to stumble forward.

"What did he do? I'll tell you what he did." Danny leans forward, gesturing towards the 'sea monster.' "This was early on, okay, so your Uncle Steve, he wasn't fit for civilized society yet."

Grace snorts. "You say he isn't fit for civilized society now."

"It may be hard to believe, but he was so much worse back then." Danny smirks. "Anyway, we're in the middle of a case and we have to take the elevator up, all right, and there's this family with a little boy in there, four, maybe five years old. And Steve, he presses the button for the top floor _with his gun,_ checks the magazine... you'd think he was gonna start shooting right there." Danny remembers staring at Steve, wondering if that guy was for real because surely nobody could be that clueless. "And the boy is scared, okay, he's frozen, and when Steve notices, do you know what he said? Do you know what he told this child to soothe his fear?"

"What did he say?" Grace is grinning in anticipation.

"He said," Danny pauses and spreads his hands, because years later he still can't believe it. "'Cops, don't worry.'"

Grace bursts out laughing. She laughs hard enough to almost drop her phone and Danny joins her because his girl is happy and carefree and they can poke fun at the goof they love so much. And yeah, maybe Danny is happy, too. Just a little bit. 

"Hey." Steve comes trotting up towards them, Charlie still on his shoulders, safe as can be. "What are you two giggling about?" 

He smiles down at them, but he looks a little uncertain around the edges. Like he isn't sure if he's invited to laugh along. Like he still doesn't know how much he's theirs. How much they're his.

Danny looks at Grace, who looks back at Danny.

"Family," they say together, and dissolve into laughter again.

Steve's smile outshines the sun. 

~~~

**4\. His silence**

When people hear that Steve used to be a Navy SEAL, their immediate conclusion is that Steve must be a Guy Who Shoots Stuff. If they know a bit about the military, they might also infer that he's self-disciplined – when he's not completely off the rails – and probably really smart. 

What no one ever seems to get, what Danny has to admit took _him_ a while to get, is exactly _how_ smart Steve really is. 

He doesn't make it easy to see; more often than not, Steve really is the guy who storms ahead, gun at the ready and fully prepared to punch, trip and otherwise incapacitate everything he can't shoot. Few would suspect that as Steve does the storming, he also calculates angles and probabilities, adjusts his plans on the fly, and generally makes sure that any given take-down goes as quickly and easily as possible. He positions his team – and HPD and whatever other resources he might have – so everyone can use their best skills to the full advantage of the mission, meaning he assesses and evaluates at a glance if he has to. And he does it well. 

That's during operations, though. Those are loud and yes, often impressive, but they're not Danny's favorite moments. 

Danny's favorite moments are the quiet ones. 

Like when Steve glances at the paper's daily sudoku puzzle and dismisses it almost immediately because the man is freakishly good at math and doesn't need a pen to solve those things. Every now and then he will pause, tilt his head, frown a bit, and then his expression will clear and he'll exude an air of self-satisfaction that is, frankly, as annoying as it is endearing. 

Or when Steve mulls over a problem, turning it over in his head and cross-referencing with whatever crazy random facts he's got stored in there, and finally offers a solution that is well thought-out and, frequently, just counter-intuitive enough to give Danny pause. Nine times out of ten it works, though. And Danny will never admit it out loud, but the one failure may sometimes be caused by poor execution on his part.

Never, _ever_ admitting that out loud. Jesus. 

But he likes it when Steve wears his Pondering Face or quietly geeks out over something Danny won't even begin to understand, or even find all that interesting. Not that Danny's a slouch in the brains department. It's just that Steve has this need to know everything about everyone, and if he can soak up some additional information while he's at it he will do so like a big, scary sponge. 

Danny's pretty sure that if Steve could have sat in on his undercover lectures on business cycles, their effects on global equities, and why a monopoly is similar to, but ultimately different from, a monopsony, he would have. He's still not convinced that Eric didn't record them on his phone or stream them live for Steve to dig into. Steve, the asshole, just grins and neither confirms nor denies.

But the thing is, people underestimate Steve, and Danny likes being someone who knows better. He likes that he can make allowances for Steve's intellectual needs without drawing attention to them. He just... he likes it. 

Which is why he leaves the paper with the sudoku on display so Steve can have his daily moment of smugness. 

Why he left his requisitioned economics textbooks on Steve's desk, never to be seen again.

Why, after the liver transplant, when Steve was bored and in pain and defensive enough about finding himself backed into an emotional corner to snap at just about everyone, Danny handed Grace his credit card. 

"No podcasts," he told her, voice low because the soap opera of the hour had carried Steve off into a restless sleep. "Quality stuff, all right?"

"I know just the thing," she promised, and gave him a quick kiss to the cheek.

Danny found himself out of several hundred dollars for audio books from something called 'The Great Courses,' but the way Steve relaxed for the first time in days as he switched off the TV, put in the headphones, closed his eyes and listened? That more than made up for being a little short on funds for a month or two. 

If the drugs made it hard for Steve to concentrate on reading, the obvious solution was to find someone who narrated. And Steve's spouting random facts about Aztec history, 6th century Byzantine fortifications or 20th century opera for months afterward wasn't quite as annoying as Danny pretended.

And now Danny's sitting on his couch, enjoying some brainless horror novel about the Jersey Devil that Steve gave him, probably because of the book's claim that New Jersey is the gateway to hell. A quiet end to a slow day. He ignores his front door opening as well as the shuffling-off of heavy boots and the soft fall of socked feet approaching his living room. 

"Hey," Steve says as he lets himself drop down beside Danny. 

Danny hums, doesn't look up as he reaches over to the side table to pick up the second novel that's been gathering dust there for the last few days. He hands it over. Steve grunts and wiggles deeper into the couch cushions, finds the bookmark – flimsy, colorful, a Gracie-made treasure that Steve's kept for years – and starts to read. 

He sniffs after a moment and rubs his nose, quiet contentment coming off him in waves, and Danny allows himself a smile because, yeah.

These are the moments he likes best. 

~~~

**5\. His courage**

Steve is braver than Danny. This is no secret to anyone. Where Danny has always been the one to urge caution, don't run in there, please, don't jump over that railing, Steve is the one who runs in there and jumps over that railing. Steve is brave to the point of stupidity, although he is far from stupid. He's not suicidal, either, for all Danny's accusations to the contrary. Steve almost always has a good reason for doing the shit he does – at least now he does; in the beginning, Danny would have sworn the opposite – and he almost always does his best to make it through alive. The occasional moment of self-sacrificial idiocy notwithstanding. 

Danny is no coward, but Steve? Steve takes his fear and dares it to stop him. So far, it never has.

Danny knows this. And yet Steve's boldness still surprises him sometimes.

"If you open that restaurant," Steve said, sitting against an overturned truck waiting for a bomb to go off, "I want you to seriously consider calling it Steve's, please." 

"Steve's," Danny repeated, because what the hell?

"Yes, because then, if we're not together we still," Steve looked away, almost flailing as he fumbled for the words, "you know, we're still gonna... we'll be together, still."

"You're very sentimental," Danny said, but he was touched all the same.

It took him until late that night to realize that this had been Steve, putting himself out there. 

It takes him the better part of another year to work up the courage to pull Steve in.

Danny's good in a crisis. He can storm in and shoot with the best of them. He can hold back and be the voice of reason while everything around him goes to shit. He can even combine the two. 

What he cannot do, what he simply isn't built for, is take a risk he deems unnecessary. Unless Steve is hurt, about to die, or got himself lost in a foreign country again. Then all bets are off. 

The point here is that he and Steve have a hard enough time just maintaining their friendship sometimes. Adding a romantic entanglement to that mix is the epitome of unnecessary risk. Danny likes it when good things stay the way they are. He's not going to rock the boat, here. 

Except then Steve gets sick. Steve gets sick and then they all get sick, and then Danny gets shot because that's what his life is like now. And the boat is already rocking, okay, the boat has _been_ rocking, and can Danny please get over himself and take the plunge? Please? Because the mere idea of not having Danny around is hurting Steve plenty, and if Danny has one job on this damn island besides keeping his children safe, it's to make sure Steve _does not get fucking hurt._

Which is a lot of words to say he's finally ready to stop avoiding the issue, but of course Steve can't just let him go at his own pace. Steve has to break into Danny's house, eat Danny's cookies, drink Danny's milk, and squabble about semantics. By the time they settle down, Danny wants to both kiss him and punch him in the face which, to be fair, isn't all that unusual. What's unusual is that Danny had a plan, damn it, and Steve should count himself lucky that 'gorilla' is all Danny calls him. 

They sit in silence for a while after Danny refills the cookies, the quiet only broken by Steve's happy munching.

"If I were a gorilla," Steve muses, his mouth full because of course it is, "could I break into your house?"

Danny sighs. It's been a long day and he's tired, but if Steve wants to start another round of bickering, then fine. 

"So now you're admitting you broke into my house," he says, giving Steve the side-eye. 

"I'm not! I'm not admitting anything."

"You are, you just said you broke into my house."

"I said if, _if_ I were a gorilla, could I break into your house. That's a hypothetical." 

Danny pulls a face. "What, like Santa breaking and entering, that kind of hypothetical?"

"Exactly." Steve nods, obviously pleased with himself. "I'm not admitting anything." 

"You're admitting that there's something to admit, though," Danny says. It's a stupid, circular argument, but he's not gonna be the one who loses it. 

Steve hums, clears his throat.

"All right, you want me to admit stuff to you?"

"Please." Danny motions for him to go on. 

"Okay." Steve hesitates, which should be Danny's first clue that this discussion is about to go seriously sideways. Steve's next words still throw him for a loop. "You scared the shit out of me. How's that?"

The tone is almost challenging, but the way Steve's throat works, the way he looks away from Danny like that could hide the sudden brightness to his eyes... Danny wants to take the blanket from the back of the couch and wrap Steve up until he stops looking so unbearably vulnerable.

"I'm right here," Danny says softly.

"No, Danny. You're not." Steve's voice is even quieter than Danny's, barely more than a sigh. He's still not looking at Danny, because even Steve's courage has its limits, but here he is again, putting himself out there. And the sad thing is that Steve doesn't even think Danny will take him up on it, not really. Steve has all but curled in on himself, and the resigned tilt of his body tells Danny that Steve has calculated his chances and determined his odds of success at exactly zero percent. But he's still taking the risk, _again,_ because that's who he is and Danny... 

Danny can't leave him hanging. Not anymore.

"Steve." The word comes out in a tone that's somewhere between fondness and apology, making Steve wince, but Danny's got this. Danny had a _plan._ He just needs to tell Steve about it. "There's a stocking with your name on it right over there. If you hadn't stolen Santa's cookies," he sees Steve open his mouth to argue, to seize the distraction, and plows right on, "I could have told you there's a whole bag in the kitchen, just for you." 

Steve blinks at that, but he's still refusing to look over, so Danny pulls out the big guns. 

"I changed the sheets," he says, laughing quietly at the way Steve's gaze snaps over to him, eyes wide, "because if you came over tonight, I wasn't gonna let you sleep on the couch."

Steve doesn't seem to be breathing. He stares at Danny like Danny's an apparition, like this can't possibly be real. Danny smiles a little and Steve's fingers twitch, like he wants to reach out but doesn't dare. 

"I'm right here," Danny says again, willing Steve to get it because his courage, too, has reached its limit. It got him this far, but he's not making it any further. 

Steve, bless him, gets it.

"Danny," he croaks, and now he does reach out, his hand coming to rest against the side of Danny's neck in a touch so careful, Danny almost wants to cry. 

Instead, he does what he should have done months ago: he reaches back and pulls Steve in the rest of the the way.

Steve sighs into the kiss; a deep, heartfelt thing that makes Danny's cheeks heat up. Steve sounds so relieved, like he's just come home after a too-long day and can finally, _finally_ relax. Danny runs a thumb along Steve's cheekbone, up to the corner of Steve's eye, caresses soft, damp skin. He opens his mouth, huffs out a little soothing noise when Steve inhales a shaky breath, and proceeds to lick the taste of cookies and milk away until all that's left is Steve. 

Steve, Danny finds, tastes amazing. 

They don't do anything more that night. Danny still gets out of breath far too quickly, for one thing. For another, he doesn't think either of them is ready to take their relationship that far quite yet. And finally, Danny's son is sleeping just a few doors down and Danny may not know how loud Steve gets, but he himself isn't exactly quiet. 

So they kiss and then they hug – cling, really – and then they go to bed, where Danny drifts off to sleep with his nose buried in the smell of fresh sheets and Steve, his fingers trailing drowsily up and down Steve's spine. 

"Didn't bring in your presents from the car," Steve murmurs, and Danny thinks of the collection of happy summer photos in the back of his closet, selected and printed out by Grace and put into a sturdy frame that Danny paid for and Charlie decorated with stickers, paint and glitter. He smiles to himself and refuses to say that he already got what he wanted. 

Steve knows it, anyway.

~~~

**+1 His hands (redux)**

Steve and Danny have always been physical with each other. It's not just the hugs and the back slaps and the little nudges and pinches to get the other's attention. Danny's used Steve as an armrest, footrest and generally useful and decorative pillar to slouch against. In his turn, Steve has used Danny as a crutch, a clothes rack and occasionally his teddy bear, leaving Danny to muse that he must have been deprived in his childhood. 

But Danny seriously underestimated the simple pleasure Steve takes in being touched. Now, Danny can run his palm over Steve's short, short hair – it feels _so soft,_ he's getting addicted – and Steve will close his eyes and break into a blissful smile. He can absently draw invisible figures on Steve's knee as they're watching a movie, and Steve will give a happy little hum. He can nose his way along Steve's jaw and Steve will arch his neck to give him better access, unashamedly greedy.

Steve leans into every gentle contact like he's reveling in it, and Danny loves that. 

But when Danny strokes a finger along the back of Steve's hand, Steve goes utterly still. 

When Danny runs his thumb over Steve's knuckles, Steve presses his lips together as if to keep from making a sound. When Danny traces the lines of Steve's palm, Steve gasps in a shaky breath. When Danny kisses the tips of Steve's fingers, Steve's whole body shivers. 

And that? Danny fucking adores that. 

Steve's knuckles are often red and bruised, the skin dry and cracking. Danny likes to suck on that skin, to drag his tongue over it until it's good and wet and Steve is desperately trying to hold in those tiny whimpering noises; noises that make the hair at the back of Danny's neck stand up. There's a little bump in the bone of his right little finger, an old break that healed unevenly, and when Danny presses there with the tip of his tongue Steve's arm twitches like he's torn between pulling back and begging for more. He does beg, a breathless litany of "Danny, Danny, _Danny,_ " when Danny licks along the many thin scars that cross the back of his hand, the side of his palm, the base of his thumb; fingers twitching helplessly in Danny's grip. 

And god, those fingers. Blunt-tipped, _huge,_ but feeling so fucking fragile as Danny closes his lips around the ring and middle finger and sucks, tastes salt and a hint of sugar from the malasadas they had earlier as he licks and swallows his way down to the sound of Steve's gasping moan. 

"Jesus f-" Steve chokes, pupils blown wide as he stares at Danny in helpless arousal. 

Danny smirks and tightens his grip around Steve's wrist, lets his other hand press against Steve's abdomen, muscles jumping under his touch. He pushes his tongue into the space between Steve's fingers at the same time as his hand glides lower, lower, under the waistband of Steve's shorts and then...

Steve lets his head fall back with a shaky groan, hips snapping forward as Danny starts to jerk him off in time with the bobbing of his mouth up and down Steve's fingers. He pauses to suckle on Steve's fingertips, to smear slick pre-cum over the head of Steve's cock with his thumb before he resumes his strokes. Steve groans again, breathing hard, and Danny's own cock twitches in response.

"Please," Steve babbles, "please, Danny, just, _hah_ ," and Danny smirks, loosens his grip a little but picks up the speed, sucks Steve's fingers into his mouth until they slip into his throat and he can twirl the tip of his tongue around the webbing between Steve's fingers. "Danny, Danny, ahhhh, ffffhuh."

Steve is shaking, hips bucking into Danny's hand as he pants. His begging trails off into wordless sounds and he's falling apart more beautifully than Danny ever thought he'd see, pleasure-drunk and open-mouthed and gorgeous. Danny works Steve's cock faster until Steve's movements become jerky, stuttering, and then he bites softly at the joints of Steve's fingers and that's it, Steve's gone. 

The noise Steve makes as he comes is small, barely more than a whining exhale. Steve's fingers twitch in Danny's mouth and then they go lax, heavy on his tongue as he pulls back and away. His cock is hard enough to hurt, but it's a good hurt. He ignores it in favor of gentling Steve through the aftershocks, absurdly charmed by the way Steve gulps in air, looking utterly wrecked. 

Steve fumbles for him, brings a clumsy hand to the back of Danny's neck and drags him into a kiss that's sloppy and off-center and all the better for it. 

"Gimme," Steve slurs, his other hand blindly groping for Danny's ass, "lemme..."

Danny laughs at him, happy and horny and so fucking in love he's bursting with it.

"Later," he says, pressing spit-damp lips against Steve's mouth, "I'm not done with you yet," and laughs again at the sound that comes out of Steve's throat, half eagerness and half protest and completely inarticulate. 

Poor Steve. Danny's never going to be done with him. 

That's okay, though. He has a feeling Steve's going to stick around.

~~~

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh. I hate writing smut.


End file.
